


Everybody Lost Somebody

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: (it's references to georgie), Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:25:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: This pain isn't something you deserve." Mike says softly, a lump in his own throat. "It's not, Bill. You have to believe that."Bill shakes his head, Mike pulling back, Bill's hands on his biceps as he reaches up and holds Bill's face, wiping away the wetness on Bill's cheeks with his thumbs."I can't speak for Georgie; I was never able to meet him. But I'm damn sure he wouldn't want the brother he loved so much to be sad. Those who loved us want us to live, Bill. That's what love is."





	Everybody Lost Somebody

**Author's Note:**

> an anon on tumblr requested any bleachers song + any mike paring, so I went with Everybody Lost Somebody and hanbrough! there is not nearly enough hanbrough and you have to be the change you want to see in the world  
> also posted to tumblr @trash-the-tozier

 "Alright, Big Bill." Richie slings an arm around Bill's shoulders. "You. Me. Eds." He points at his boyfriend. "Bev, Stan, Mike." He continues to gesture around Mike's living room, to all the other Losers sitting around. When he gets to Ben, he winks. "And Benny Boy! Tonight. My place."

"...why did you say us all individually?" Stan asks, but Richie ignores him. 

"My parents are out this weekend, and you know what that means." 

"Just spit it out, Richie." Beverly requests, Richie waggling his eyebrows. 

"Party!" He declares, and the whole group groans. Bill slips out from under Richie's arm, who looks slightly bewildered. "What?" He asks. 

"No, we're in. Your parents just have a terrible taste in alcohol." Mike says, a few of them nodding along to his words. Richie gives them all a disbelieving look. 

"We're seventeen. We don't even _have_ a taste in alcohol." He insists. "But we're all in?" 

Nods around the room for a moment, everyone's head turning to Bill when he speaks.

"No." Then, a little quieter. "Sorry." 

"Bill! Come on!" Richie tries to tuck Bill under his arm again, but he side steps. "It won't be fun without you."  

"I'm sure it will."  

"Why don't you want to hang out with us?" Richie demands. "You keep blowing us off. This whole month, you've just--" Mike's attention turns exclusively on Bill, all but tuning Richie out as he notices something. Bill's eyes are down, one hand clamped tightly over the opposite wrist. Something is _wrong._  

He wracks his brain, trying to think of something; anything. He has noticed that Bill has been slightly more reserved lately, more withdrawn, but it didn't ever seem enough to worry about, always dismissed with a smile and an easy "I'm fine" when Mike asked if he was alright. It's early spring, summer just around the corner, the weather already growing warm. It's Mike's favorite time of year, of opening flowers and light rainstorms, but Bill looks ready to either cry or rip at his own skin. Maybe both. 

"--and then you'll be sitting on a mountain with a six foot beard wondering why you never listened to your good ol' friend Richie Tozier." 

"R-R-Rich--"

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Richie, shut up." The whole room is watching the argument, and Stan speaks up suddenly, his voice sharp, his face white. "Just shut the fuck up."

"No Stan. We need to save Bill before he--"

"Maybe I don't want you to s-s- _save_ me." Bill says, his eyes finally lifting, and Richie takes a step back. "Fucking--" 

"Bill--" Stan tries, Richie reaching out a hand to his friend, but before either can do anything Bill is out of the room, his footsteps loud and fast against the old wooden floors. Beverly gets to her feet too, concern all over her face, Ben looking scared.

"What's wrong with him?" Eddie asks, his voice quick with worry, and Stan rounds on Richie, looking furious.

"You fucking insensitive asshole--"

"Could you tell me what I did wrong before you rip my head off?" Richie cuts him off, his voice loud and defensive. Stan purses his lips for a moment, and the words come out almost in a whisper.

"Georgie's birthday is tomorrow." 

"Oh." Richie's voice falls soft too, and it feels as though an ice cube just landed, heavy and frozen, into Mike's stomach. "Fuck. It's... It's been three years, I didn't even..."

Beverly is out of the room now, following after Bill, and Stan runs a rough hand through his hair. 

"I'd forgotten too. Maybe next time I tell you to shut up, you'll listen."

Beverly comes back, her face contorted in distress.

"He's in the bathroom. He locked the door; he didn't respond when I tried to knock. We can't... We can't just leave him in there."

"I'll handle it." Mike says, feeling strangely nervous as he walks down the hallway. He retrieves the bathroom key from the top of the door frame, and knocks lightly on the old wood, leaning close.

"Bill? It's Mike. Can I come in?"

No response.

"I'm going to open the door, alright?" 

Still nothing, Mike unlocking the door with a click and pushing it open, holding his breath in his chest as he steps inside. Bill is sitting on the edge of the bathtub, curled in on himself, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Mike closes the door behind himself. Bill's entire body is quivering.

"I hate this." Bill says after a long moment of quiet, his soft voice making the words sounds wretched and pained, and Mike feels his heart break. "I fucking hate this." 

Mike reaches out to touch his shoulder, but as soon as his hand makes contact with Bill's shirt he flinches harshly, and Mike withdraws quickly. 

"I fucking hate this." Bill says again, finally lifting his head, his eyes watery but sharp, his hands clenched into fists.

"I'm sorry." Mike says, for a lack of anything else, and Bill shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. A few tears escape his eyes, rolling fast down his cheeks. Mike's heart lurches, and all he wants is to hold his friend. 

"Everyone's sorry. I... I'm sorry. Sorry doesn't do anything." 

"I know, but..." Mike knows how empty words like this sound in the face of loss, how useless they are. "But Bill, we're here for you, you know that don't you?" _I'm here for you._

Bill bites hard on his bottom lip, so hard Mike fears he'll draw blood. He gets to his feet, swaying slightly. 

"Ten." He says, and for a moment Mike doesn't know what he's talking about. "He'd be ten this year, Mike. He's supposed to be ten." 

"I know." 

"He's supposed to be ten. How has it been three years? I... I t-think about him, and it feels like yesterday, l-l-like I just realized how long he'd been out on his own, and this... T-this feeling just hits me, and I..." Bill's left hand goes to his stomach, twisting tightly in his shirt. "He's supposed to be ten." 

His eyes are downcast, his voice tight, like a string threatening to snap. Mike's afraid to speak, but he knows he needs to say something. 

"Time--" He starts, but Bill lets out a choked kind of sob, his hand coming to his mouth, and Mike can't continue, the broken noise rooting him to the spot. 

"Time." Bill says softly, almost reverently, and then the string snaps, the dam broken. His next words are strangled and loud. "Isn't time supposed to--supposed to fucking heal me?" 

The question is harsh, tears falling freely down Bill's face. He's not looking at Mike; he's not looking at anything, his eyes wide and desperate. Mike takes a quick step back, wondering if he should say more or simply let Bill go, knowing the rest of the Losers can hear Bill from the living room. 

"It's been three years! Mom drinks more than she talks to me. Dad works more just so he doesn't have to be in the house, and none of it... None of it fucking hurts any less."

"It does get easier." Mike says quietly, and for a wild moment he thinks Bill might punch him, but his friend just turns away, his chest heaving with another cry that he stifles with his hands. "It does. It might not feel like it, and sometimes... Sometimes all the hurt comes back, and sometimes it feels worse, but... But it does get easier." 

"Then why do I still feel like this?" Bill asks, and he sounds so desperate and defeated that Mike's heart aches in his chest. "Why... Why? What's wrong with me? Why can't I get better?"

"You are getting better, Bill."

"It hurts... I miss him every day."

"And that's okay." Mike says. He misses his parents too, more than he can even say, and it's as though in that moment, Bill remembers that Mike has also experienced a loss like his own. He's looking at Mike like a lifeline now, his eyes wide.

"When I'm not t-thinking of him, when... When I'm happy, and I feel happy, I j-j-just remember and I feel so..." Bill's hands clench and unclench and he wipes furiously at his face, wetting his shirt, but the tears aren't discouraged. "I feel so _guilty_."

"Why?" Mike asks softly, taking a hesitant step forwards. Bill swallows roughly, avoiding his eyes.

"Because I'm not supposed to be happy, I can't, n-not... Not when Georgie's dead."

He stumbles over the last word, as though his tongue is trying to hold it back, as if keeping it unsaid will stop it from being true, even after all this time. Mike feels a sharp ache resonating through him and he's stepping up to Bill, wrapping Bill in his arms, and Bill completely breaks, gripping Mike tightly, burying his face in Mike's shoulder and crying, crying, shaking so much that it's all Mike has to hold him together. 

"This pain isn't something you deserve." Mike says softly, a lump in his own throat. "It's not, Bill. You have to believe that."

Bill shakes his head, Mike pulling back, Bill's hands on his biceps as he reaches up and holds Bill's face, wiping away the wetness on Bill's cheeks with his thumbs. 

"I can't speak for Georgie; I was never able to meet him. But I'm damn sure he wouldn't want the brother he loved so much to be sad. Those who loved us want us to live, Bill. That's what love is."

Bill's eyes fall closed, leaning into Mike's touch, and when his eyes open again Mike does something he knows he shouldn't, but can't help; he presses a soft kiss to Bill's lips.

Bill's hands tighten their grip, his fingers digging into Mike's skin, and he kisses back for just a moment. Then he pulls back completely and hugs Mike again, his face in Mike's neck, his arms looser now, holding him just to hold him. Just to be close. 

"Stay the night at my house." Mike requests. "It's Georgie's birthday. We should celebrate."

Bill takes a step away and looks at him with questioning eyes, like he doesn't know the meaning of the last word.

"We'll celebrate." Mike says again. "I'll make him a cake. You can tell me all about him. Okay?" 

Bill takes Mike's hand in his, using the other to wipe away the tears on his face, and gives a watery sort of smile, his face softer and more open than Mike had seen it in a long time. 

"Okay." He swallows. "Thank you."

"For what?" Mike asks, but Bill doesn't respond, his giving his hand a squeeze. Smiling slightly, Mike squeezes back.


End file.
